#chronic illness is loneliness upon loneliness

[graciecatfamilyband]

.

[anemoiashifts]

the exploitation of mental health within the shifting community.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

im saying this with the intention to not send a wave of hate to anyone but a shitoker with 50,000 followers who confessed (on reddit) to to lying about it shifting for about 2 years & has bragged about making just under $2000 in sponsorships & then goes onto call ppl who shift mentally ill, schizophrenic & delusional. they’ve also they know how easy it is to lie bc ppl are “wanting an escape”. they’ve entertained the idea that “to save their asses” they should — if they do confess to lying — to make it out like she was doing it as a way to get tiktok followers, as if that isn’t preying upon ppls desperation to get out of toxic & harmful situations & wanting of a better life.

taking this for what it is, I want to talk about the exploitation of ppls mental health within the shifting community — mainly shiftok.

it’s not secret 85% or shiftok is mentally ill kids who want to escape this reality out of loneliness or destructive & toxic situations. i take such an issue with this because of this reason specifically (other then the speed of misinformation & drowning out actual ppl who are educated / want to shift). if someone believes shifters are really just “mentally ill 13 year olds” — her words not mine — why not…idk ? try to squeeze in content trying to encourage ppl getting better ? but , no. ppl who lie about shifting can’t do that bc they’re blinded by numbers & profit & not the well being of children who are struggling deeply. if shifting is real & made up & “grown ass ppl who believe in it too, sadly” —again, her words not mine — believe in shifting , why are you knowingly profiting from mental problems ?

this isn’t simply ppl “lying about shifting”. it’s other children & adults build a platform & make profit from the exploitation of peoples desperation for a better life. we need to start looking at it this way.

the only ppl who are worse then anti-shifters are the ppl who knowingly lie for years. they’re the sick ones, not us.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

sorry if this brought the vibes down a tad. ive been looking for an excuse to speak up on this for a while. id like to expand upon this conversation more as there’s so many thoughts i have about it in the future.

to calm your worries , yes shifting is real. no , im not lying about shifting. all we can do is wish the best for these kind of ppl & hope they’re able to stop chronically lying & learn that their actions do have consequences.

again , please do not try & find this person. im not trying to ruin someone’s life as they’re fifteen themselves.

[eustochium]

Can I ask why do you think men cheat? I know they cheat for so many different reasons and maybe it just comes down to abundance of choice and kind of loose morals/it was fun in the moment.... but I dont know exactly how to get over my own wounds of being cheated on, oh and also I know women can be unfaithful as well, anyone can, but like in ur experience why do think men cheat?

there definitely are different reasons. in some cases i think they just do not care which is like a frustratingly unsatisfying answer but sometimes i think that’s all there is. that was my experience with my first bf. he would wax on blaming his low self esteem, or being drunk, or trauma that crippled his abilities to set and enforce boundaries, and i think those were all true to some extent, but after nearly 2 years of repeated instances combined with all his other behaviors made it clear that this guy just did not care about the emotions of anyone besides himself. he also had a lot of very blatant contempt for me because no matter what i did, my presence in his life was enough for him to feel imposed upon with expectations for him to treat me halfway decently. he felt entitled to pursue whatever immediate gratification he wanted in the moment, and if i expected anything else, that was my fault and my problem. (of course, anytime if i tried to leave, he would put on the theatrics of being depressed and suicidal. but that’s a whole other can of worms lol)

i also think some men cheat because they’ve been checked out of the relationship for a while and just want the novelty of something exciting, they feel unsatisfied (or even just bored) with their current relationship but don’t want to put in the work of trying to change it, but they also don’t want to lose the stability and benefits of the relationship they already have (just my opinion, but: for all the talk of chronic male loneliness, men being emotionally and socially isolated en masse, i think a lot of men have a much harder time being alone than they’re willing to admit. all the more so if they personally have codependency or other relational issues—it’s genuinely shocking how many men i’ve met who have not been single once since their teen years)

i do think there’s other reasons, and i do think some (SOME!!!) men can truly love the women they’re with and still end up being unfaithful. they might have other issues with impulse control, unresolved trauma, desperate needs for validation, deeply ingrained and unresolved mental illness, or just lack of maturity. not to get too Buzzfeed feminism or anything but i also do think that as a whole, a lot of men do go thru life being held far less accountable for their own behaviors that women frequently do, and are socialized to feel far less guilt for their actions inflicting emotional harm onto others. none of those things are excuses or justifications obviously, but i definitely think those are all at play

[strangesmallbard]

okay here are the asoiaf ocs rotating in my mind. they’re all a little half-baked because i haven’t actually written any fic, but i love them:

daella “venya” targaryen

“alysanne waters”

tybalt hill

dara stark

daella “venya” targaryen:

au where baelon is a girl who survives with congenital heart issues, leading to chronic illness as she ages. rhaenyra pushed for her to be named visenya regardless, but otto was like “the realm is already super mad that she’s a weakling girl and may view naming her visenya as an insult” lmao as if the smallfolk care. regardless, rhaenyra tells daella her true name is visenya targaryen and she’s the blood of the dragon who will take what’s hers with fire and blood. you know how it goes with these guys.

eventually, everyone in the red keep calls her venya as a compromise, except viserys (who usually feels too guilty to refer to her at all) and otto (misogyny). venya is very close with rhaenyra during her childhood and doesn’t like to be parted with her under any circumstances. she knows she’s resented by everyone but rhaenyra and clings hard. venya herself is like. passionate and stalwart but also vain and petty and bitter; she wants and wants and wants. *stores all the disability-related bitterness in the asoiaf oc* rhaenyra is initially very indulgent but like. eventually she has her own children and needs to start prioritizing her ascension, and venya never really forgives her.

on the outside, however, venya maintains a veneer of gentleness and grace. she learns the harp, she reads scriptures, she daydreams about running her own household, knowing that she might not live long enough to marry, even if anyone would marry her. (which is proving hard but like. she probably would get married to secure an alliance.)

anyway, venya defiantly stays at the red keep when rhaenyra moves to dragonstone. but now she’s just alone most of the time—except for queen alicent, who visits out of guilt or her own loneliness for rhaenyra. (once upon a time, alicent told rhaenyra that venya would never be alone as long as they’re both with her,) but venya resents how weak alicent seems to her. she’s really visenyaism distilled. as the stress in the red keep mounts, her symptoms worsen, and eventually she dies very suddenly during a heart attack.

in his final act of faildadding and with the last of his energy, viserys uses some valyrian blood magic to uhhhhh sacrifice his life and raise venya from the dead! it works a little too well and with many consequences. venya is back with a lot more energy than before, but she still has the same heart condition—only now she like. can’t really die? like she can, but not from her condition. we don’t know much about valyrian blood magic so i’m making this up as i go along.

venya is uhhhhhhhhhh okay. well. what if you combined aemond, maegor, and visenya into one person? Princess Daella the Terror of the Realm is here babey! and she wants revenge! on everyone, including herself for her perceived weakness! she steals a dragon and attempts to steal the crown for herself. she could be a good queen—she certainly has studied the part more than rhaenyra or aegon! but the visenyaism cursed babey. this entire oc is also just an examination of westeros’ ableism and misogyny + an interrogation of the "disabled people get magically cured" trope.

alysanne waters:

actually jaehaera targaryen after rhaena scoops her out of the red keep and fakes her death, but she counts as an oc. alysanne has a fairly peaceful life, all things considering. she’s never quite free of the horrors, but absolutely no one is pressuring her to be anyone at all, so she’s kind of free to be whoever she wants within westeros’ extremely limited imagination for women. she serves as a companion for rhaena’s trueborn daughter, embroiders, and explores the ancient stone underneath the hightower. normal behavior. i think she gets into magical history after rhaena’s daughters leave the hightower to get married, but no one’s too worried. that’s kind of normal for hightowers anyway.

alysanne also compartmentalizes her two lives—she thinks of jaehaera as an entirely separate person who’s body she used to inhabit, basically. is this healthy? probably not! but westeros has the opposite of therapy, so she DIYs her own coping mechanisms. she doesn’t resent princess jaehaera at all, however; she feels this almost sisterly protectiveness over her memory. in a hypothetical fic, king aegon iii visits the hightower and she undergoes an identity crisis/exploration moment.

tybalt hill:

actually the youngest son of ned/cat and twin brother of dara in my “cat is pregnant during the war of the five kings and exchanges herself for sansa au.” he never has any other name besides tybalt hill. to cover cersei’s political blunder, tywin only announced the birth of dara, killed the midwife who delivered the twins, and shipped baby boy stark to casterly rock to masquerade as kevan’s bastard. (this, of course, ruined any happiness in kevan’s marriage, but anything for the lannister family.)

tybalt has red hair and grey eyes, meaning he stands out at casterly rock in the worst way and loathes his appearance. he might have been a sweet kid, if a bit conceited, in other circumstances, but now his capacity for loyalty is 100% directed toward the lannisters. he's raised a bit like jon, but a thousand percent worse in every way. he’ll prove he’s a lion whatever the cost. oh no!

dara stark/"alayne stone":

short for eddara; the youngest daughter of ned/cat and twin to tybalt hill in the same au. dara got to stay with cat in the red keep, but has no memories of living there. at 14 months, littlefinger spirited her and cat away; dara became alayne stone and catelyn her mute septa. oh no! (catelyn is mute because she cuts her own throat to prevent the lannisters from punishing dara or sansa, now imprisoned at the twins, when joff is poisoned. she doesn’t die, but her voice box is fucked up now. i enjoy making canon divergent aus parallel the og story when possible.)

like her twin brother, dara has red hair and grey eyes. unlike her brother, she has a mostly carefree childhood. she’s a lot like both her sisters: high-spirited and friendly, with a huge rebellious streak and a love for fine dresses. catelyn shelters her as much as possible and is very, very strict with her. she wants dara to survive any world where she could end up alone. dara suspects catelyn is her mother, but never asks—they’re a bit like elphaba and liir from the wicked books.

petyr loves pretending dara/alayne is his own daughter lmao. it’s still creepy, but not as creepy as petyr was with sansa; this time cat is still alive, if “damaged” in petyr’s self-centered, misogynistic pov and dara looks enough like ned that petyr can’t project his obsession in the same way, although he still yearns (ew) for that idealized version of young catelyn. he’s also possessive of his fake dad role + rebukes any ideas from catelyn to have dara eventually marry a northern lord so she can take back winterfell.

this au basically becomes a fucked up parent trap because tybalt ends up visiting the vale with kevan at some point on a red keep venture. petyr kept dara and cat pretty well-hidden so dara and tybalt have a real spider-man pointing.png moment in the godswood.

[cherrylight]

hey. uh, sorry about this post... i dont mean to like post vents a lot recently, but things just been so difficult and hard for me to even talk about and then i get so scared that im going to be judged or hated... its been a lot. so. im sorry in advance.

this post is very long btw

hi, not sure where to really begin with this but i guess its better to just say it and let it be said then not i suppose...

summer is usually the worst season for me in general, i hate summer anyway so no surprise. so im sorry for not being up to par on being happy-go-lucky or whatever, i try to do things to help myself and be like ok, i can handle it. i can take that for a while. but theres only so much i can take before its overbearing to a point it wont quit.

im not good at explaining myself so ill try to keep this as concise as possible.

i suffer way too much from social isolation and sure, i try to talk to people and i try so *so* hard to like throw myself out there, but its difficult and im scared on messing up and making a huge fool of myself. its gotten progressively worse and mentioning it to someone only added to the feeling of feeling like a complete chore to even interact with . . .

im like the most socially anxious person you could ever meet but i would do absolutely anything to socialize with others and be friends with people if it wasnt for the multiple negative experiences ive had during my life.

this goes hand in hand with the fact i want to talk about my own things, but fear of being judged and hated upon heavily affects me. theres a lot of things i want to share on this blog, but i cant out of fear of talking way too much or its just unnecessary information or its not what everyone was here to see i guess . . . which is stupid, i know.

i am not good at like expressing myself or my interests at all, but i get so excited upon talking about them and then in return the excitement is unrequited (majority of the time), sometimes it is and im so *so* utterly grateful for that because it means the absolute world to me.

tldr because im talking a lot: social isolation is a bitch and it has affected me my entire life to a point of feeling chronic loneliness, i want to talk about my interests with excitement but i have a lot of fear upon doing so. i just want to enjoy myself and not feel like a chore on a daily

to add: this isnt on selfship almost at all, i feel like i can actively talk about it and enjoy it a lot, i just have so much fear of being weird or odd and what ive stated earlier does not help

again, sorry for the long post and sorry for constantly venting lately. my brain feels like its in a constant fog and ive stared up at the ceiling like multiple times today

hopefully things will get better ... hopefully

[rainsmediaradio]

Daily Hope Devotional by Rick Warren 10th January 2024 – You Don’t Always Need Sunshine to Grow

Daily Hope Devotional - You Don’t Always Need Sunshine to Grow

The topic of Daily Hope by Rick Warren 10th January 2024 ” You Don’t Always Need Sunshine to Grow”

TODAY’S  SCRIPTURE: James 1:3-4 (NLT) “When your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.”

RICK WARREN DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR TODAY 10TH JANUARY 2024

It’s possible to grow during times of bright, fair weather—but you put down deeper roots during the dark days of life. As a pastor, I heard from countless people who said they had grown more through separation, illness, job loss, or tragedy than they would have otherwise. They recognized how God had used difficulty to draw them closer to him and mature them. The Bible says it this way: “When your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing” (James 1:3-4 NLT). When you let God into your problems and don’t push him out, then you’ll develop endurance that will make you ready for anything—strong in character, full and complete. Pain is the high cost of growth. The old cliché is true: There is no gain without pain. We want the quick solution and the easy fix. We want the pill or the seminar or the book that’s going to change everything without pain. We want the product that brings maturity without the painful process. But that isn’t going to happen! Theologian J. I. Packer said, “God uses chronic pain and weakness, along with all the other inflictions, as his chisel for sculpting our lives. It deepens our dependence upon Christ for strength each day. And the weaker we feel, the harder we lean, and the harder we lean, the stronger we grow spiritually. The very thing that’s discouraging you right now is the very thing God is using to develop you right now. How was David able to write such beautiful and powerful psalms? Because through all the loneliness, neglect, and injustice he went through as a young shepherd and even as a king, David knew God was with him the whole time. David wrote his most beautiful words in his deepest pain. There will be growth in the painful parts of life that you will not gain any other way. The process will not make you perfect, but it will move you toward being more like Christ. And if you’ll trust God to keep you and walk with you in your pain, he will develop endurance in you and give you his peace and rest. Read the full article

[sumukhahomenursingservice]

When To Have An At Home Nursing Care For Your Loved One?

When To Have An At Home Nursing Care For Your Loved One?

You must be wondering what is this at home nursing care is all about? Somebody has to look and take care of your loved one who is terminally ill and is battling with a life-threatening illness. Therefore, to provide treatment in the comfort of the home, nurses are hired to look after the patient’s medical and health conditions. Depending on the needs of the patient and their medical condition, an in-home nurse will come and attend to all the patients’ requirements. Sumukha nursing services located in Jayanagar renders a professional and high-degree of treatment for senior home care patients.

It is always a challenging task to manage life and work especially when there are elderly people at home who need immediate care and attention. Due to the hectic life schedule and time constraint, most of us will not find adequate quality time to spend with our loved ones. Hence most of the time elderly people are neglected which often can lead to depression. At home nursing care is one such solution for such problems. Sumukha provides senior home care and medical assistance to patients in the comfort of their home.

At home nursing care involves tasks like administer medications, injections, physiotherapy treatment, dressing wounds and so on. At home nursing care is mostly chosen by those who are elderly, chronically ill, disabled or cognitively impaired by undertaking proper medical treatments in the home. Depending upon the patient’s health condition, nurses may provide simple day-to-day tasks like monitoring the health of the patient, routine check-ups, dressing, cleaning, and various other tasks.

What if the patient needs more than just medical care? Is there someone to take care of your loved one who is having difficulty in moving around or bathing by themselves?

The answer is “Yes”. Elders facing such difficulties can be taken care of by a qualified nurse by giving at home nursing care. This is only meant for senior home care where the patients can avail the treatment in the comfort of their home. At home nursing care undertakes some of the prominent tasks like administering medications and injections, monitoring vital signs, dressing wounds, and undertaking medical therapies. Apart from these functions senior home care also include making meals, bathing, grooming, toileting, brushing, changing the patients daily ware, etc.

Sumukha is one of the pioneers in offering at home nursing care in Bangalore. Sumukha home nursing services is an ideal choice when your loved ones need medical care.

Some of the benefits of senior home care are:

At home nursing care regularly access the health of your loved ones from time to time.

Nurses will monitor the vital health parameters and keep track of the same.

They will watch out for overall health condition irrespective whether the patient’s health is improving or deteriorating.

Home nurses at senior home care will report to the doctor regularly. They will also report to the family members about the health condition of the patients from time-to-time.

Nurses at home nursing care will interact with the patients and keep them engaged. In this way, the patients will have quality time employing a good companion and thus get rid of boredom and loneliness. It is the responsibility of the nurse to take care after the patient’s well-being while the seniors maintain the independence of living in their homes. The comfort of having a skilled medical professional along with the independence of living in one’s home is the best of both worlds.

So what are you waiting for? If you have an elderly patient who is looking for all the comfort and care they need get in touch with Sumukha’s at home nursing care. Sumukha’s well-trained staff will not just care for your elder’s health, but also bring the smile back on the face.

To know more about Sumukha’s senior home care just give us a call at our Toll-Free 1800-212-9707 or you can visit us at https://homenursingservices.in/

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

House of Leaves, Chapter 15

Wow there are a lot of interviews this chapter. Well if Karen is going to give others the room to speak then I will as well. Without further ado, my own interview.

~~~

@vallenari, House of Leaves Enthusiast, Dear Friend to Maeve

I do feel we need a full disclaimer before I begin. I haven't properly sat down and read this work since I was in college, about mid-way through college so we are talking around 10 years ago and I'm approaching it once more with having only read this liveread type thing along with the singular chapter in which I was asked.

I have a deep love for this novel. It came to me by way of the kind of temporary friend that you make because you see them for so many hours a day in the same limited space; the kind where you learn just enough snippets about each others lives to feel some faint thread of loneliness when you think on them again years later.

Hello my once upon a time friend. I hope you're doing well. I hope life has been kind. Thank you for this gift you gave.

I remember once being annoyed with Karen.

It felt like she whined in some areas that she was more prominent in, that she was so overly cautious or not cautious enough, that she was a bit of an ill match for Navidson. This was college age me who did roll their eyes in an exaggerated fashion at classmates who swooned over the secondary roles of females in novels. How delicate they were. How sensible. How so very misunderstood.

You do a lot more growing up after college than during it.

Karen now?

I understand the delaying in giving into her mother's wishes, of selling the house, of moving on, of finishing this film. The house and the whole experience changed not only Navidson, but her as well, and if this is the way she can hold onto him just for that much longer than it's her choice to do just that. Sending out the seconds of film that were made, gathering responses, doing anything to make the whole event feel real. Trauma has this way over clouding over every second of your life and making you want to desperately show someone the murkier details of it and hoping they can see it too. You don't want to be left alone with whatever is lurking at the bottom.

Karen doesn't want to be left alone with what still resides in the house.

Hofstadter's explanation of Zeno's arrow feels the most apt at times, but also the most feeling of someone patting themselves on the back for having such a clever answer to the phenomenon of the halls that continued on and on then having the gall to call it simple. He's the kind of person I'd want to punch.

Baleworth that follows the infuriating clever answer is something I'm more readily able to accept. The house, and to some extent, Navidson's existence/nonexistence, Zampano's novel, and Johnny's overarching story do a spectacular job of resisting interpretation. It demands to be seen just as it is, the walls always moving just out of reach when a conclusion is so very close to being drawn upon it. Then we come around to Paglia who makes me want to roll my eyes again regarding this nonsense about women being content in leaving something at being unknowable, about not being afraid of the dark because they are darkness or whatever she ends on going with. I would have been just as keen as Navidson on trying to figure out what the hell is up with the house, fear of the dark or not, it's the kind of mystery that you couldn't very well leave alone.

The interviews start to interact with one another as I presume Karen plays back or paraphrases some of what prior interviewees have said to the current person she's speaking with. I think it a brilliant way to slowly bridge them all together even if they all start to spiral together and come to say the same thing or they go at each other's throats than really giving Karen a solid answer about what she's shown them.

Then the therapist speaks again and it's like coming up for a breath among all the jumbled words. Or that could very well be my chronic exhaustion speaking. A question rather than an tumbling answer is bound to catch the attention.

Of all the supposed footage of the house, of everything Navidson had compiled and sent to his wife.

Why just those certain shots, why only thirteen (eight) minutes?

The emptiness, the darkness, the distance.

Karen didn't fear the house and its unknown. She worried for its occupants, of what personal demons they each would find in the labyrinth, what Minotaur they would face.

~~~

As I've said, Karen allows the interviewers to speak, and so I will leave this interview as-is, offering no further content.

...Okay except it was really fucking funny when David Copperfield showed up and casually made the Statue of Liberty disappear.¹ I was actually factually rolling on the floor.

Aside from what I found to be the incredible humor from certain interviews, the remainder of this chapter concerns itself directly with Karen's short film.

If anything summarizes this chapter to me it's the feeling of viewpoints. How others see, how we see, how Karen sees. An infinity of viewpoints for an infinite house, held within an infinite world of possibility. I feel like I detect a little bit of anxiety over the process of creation itself, as well. There's a kind of quiet trepidation to Karen's work. I imagine she interviewed so many to make sure she had the "right take". The correct point of view with which to portray Navidson.

Part of that reading might be my own struggles with writing. The fear of the infinite present in the book reflects my own anxieties. Not to stroke my own ego, but I feel like I face an unreal amount of possibilities every time I put key to word document. Every action I bring my characters through is plucked out of a sea of infinite possibilities. I could do anything on a sheet of paper, how am I meant to find the right way?

Ultimately I think it's personal, like Karen. Like with Vallenari's interview in this exact post. They both have reduced infinite possibility to their feelings. Something very personally one's own. Not the vast cosmos of what could be but instead on what you see, and thusly, are not lost.

That's also why we get the close-up of Delial.² Karen finally has her answer, it's a made-up name for Navy's winning photo.

Ultimately, his feelings are his own. He didn't allow anyone else to name them.

[myfeeds]

Study examines how social rank affects response to stress

In a study published in Current Biology, Tulane psychology professor Jonathan Fadok, PhD, and postdoctoral researcher Lydia Smith-Osborne looked at two forms of psychosocial stress — social isolation and social instability — and how they manifest themselves based on social rank. They conducted their research on adult female mice, putting them in pairs and allowing them to form a stable social relationship over several days. In each pair, one of the mice had high, or dominant social status, while the other was considered the subordinate with relatively low social status. After establishing a baseline, they monitored changes in behavior, stress hormones and neuronal activation in response to chronic social stress. “We analyzed how these different forms of stress impact behavior and the stress hormone corticosterone (an analogue of the human hormone, cortisol) in individuals based on their social rank,” said Fadok, an assistant professor in the Tulane Department of Psychology and the Tulane Brain Institute. “We also looked throughout the brain to identify brain areas that are activated in response to psychosocial stress.” “We found that not only does rank inform how an individual responds to chronic psychosocial stress, but that the type of stress also matters,” said Smith-Osborne, a DVM/PhD and the first author on the study. She discovered that mice with lower social status were more susceptible to social instability, which is akin to ever-changing or inconsistent social groups. Those with higher rank were more susceptible to social isolation, or loneliness. There were also differences in the parts of the brain that became activated by social encounters, based upon the social status of the animal responding to it and whether they had experienced psychosocial stress. “Some areas of a dominant animal’s brain would react differently to social isolation than to social uncertainty, for example,” Smith-Osborne said. “And this was also true for subordinates. Rank gave the animals a unique neurobiological ‘fingerprint’ for how they responded to chronic stress.” Do the researchers think the results can translate to people? Perhaps, Fadok said. “Overall, these findings may have implications for understanding the impact that social status and social networks have on the prevalence of stress-related mental illnesses such as generalized anxiety disorder and major depression,” he said. “However, future studies that use more complex social situations are needed before these results can translate to humans.”

[hclygrailed]

FULL NAME robyn freya lind AGE , D.O.B. thirty-nine, june 14th PLACE OF BIRTH montpelier, vermont. OCCUPATION political campaign manager, business shareholder EDUCATION bachelors in political science from columbia university GENDER, PRONOUNS cis woman, she / her ORIENTATION lesbian RELATIONSHIP STATUS chronically single.

POSITIVE TRAITS rational, intellectual, reliable, astute, sophisticated NEGATIVE TRAITS domineering, mercurial, obsessive, cynical, repressed.

BIOGRAPHY.

TW parental neglect / abuse, slight body horror mention

the threads that connect you to the earliest recollections of your childhood are mostly superimposed, but you remember morsels of the truth. you are but a babe, one who is subject to your birth mother’s advances the very moment you enter worldly fruition. bathed in her blood, she may not want you but you are hers and hers alone. but she was inept to care for a child when she was nearly one herself. so you become the one she will blame for her ruin. a child that would leave her young body ravaged and a stranger to herself. you would not see this woman again until your thirty-first birthday. rather you find yourself in the arms of another, an odd child bestowed upon an equally off-beat couple. you meet in footnote circumstances, unbeknownst to an empire with a singular piece missing – an heir. how strange to have everything but to be hollowed by a singular absence. the reason they wanted you for was — well, no one really knows exactly why. you were never bold enough, or maybe cruel enough to demand an answer. perhaps they felt they wanted a child because it was the last bastion to cross, the last fence in the orchard of adulthood. maybe they had simply seen a challenge, as it was so often their style, and launched headlong into it. they would approach child-rearing with the precision of mass reviews, as journalists do with great disasters, until it had the featherweight touch of a quantitative analysis: a rulebook to be followed to the letter.

they did all they were supposed to, adjusted you according to this litmus test. doctor visits, stellar extracurricular programs, language exchanges & debate clubs overseeing genovese lakes. they provided the bare essentials for this aluminum blueprint; anything superfluous, of course, would skew the results. you were the experiment they invested in, a uniform whole, rather than a sum of parts. if you judge it by any other name, the trial was a success. you had become the best version you could’ve ever been, all things considered. what if it was hollow, as all polished shells are? it was light enough to float. given the haphazard turns of your mind, the way it led itself to a fool’s gold chase that could’ve ruined you long ago — yes, given all these fatal flaws, your parents tempered as much as they could. you are not the first in line, but you are the first daughter, and god, isn’t that worse somehow? you are their sweet, golden bird. a cluster of feathers they smother in their palms. they chide and you are expected to fall in line – that you do. but sometimes when you’re alone with yourself, you begin to consider why you think of flight as an illness. why are you so afraid to simply take what you want? is what you’ve been given enough – is it too much?

the others follow you in quick succession and there is both sadness and elation in the notion that you are no longer alone in your loneliness. ( but isn’t that odd? isn’t it cruel? ) the answer still perturbs you but you do what you can stop the softness of childhoods from slipping as easily as yours had. you become a shoulder to cry upon or a hand to squeeze beneath the dinner table when father comes inquiring about your grades. it matters little how your mother’s eyes sharpen when you misstep during ballet recitals or how your father secludes you in the thing he calls love. you become everything except yourself. adapt to the needs of others and make yourself useful, maybe then someone could love you properly – without asking for everything in return. you carry the habit of giving too much of yourself onward into adulthood, no funeral held for it with the rest of the girlhood niceties you buried in the crawlspace between your bedroom and father’s study. in the meantime there are glimpses of want, of interest, but no true fulfillment of either. you show interest in bohemia early on, always a bit too eccentric for your parent’s taste so they push you in the opposite direction. you became theirs to command, because if you couldn’t will yourself to do as you pleased, you would allow them to mold you. they urged you to attend university so off to columbia you went. and perhaps for the first time in a very long time, there are peeks of who you are beneath that friendly, only slightly on edge expression of yours. you make yourself useful, earn a degree that would serve you well had you been inducted into the ranks of the family business. for once you had something of your own, and if it were merely a political sciences degree, then so be it.

getting your foot in the door means it’s no longer about what you know, but who you know, and as it turns out, maybe your pedigree isn’t so bad. father deems your occupation superfluous, that you could do more than your ill-defined, and frankly a bit foggy job. but you’re happy, even if your only reward is the satisfied looks you get from the old foxes when you’ve done well enough to keep them in political good-graces. they appreciated your curated coldness, that glacial calm, the luxury of a sublimely cut suit in a soul-crushing deposition. your parent’s contacts helped a lot, of course, but otherwise it was all you. there’s something better than the power sex gives you, and that’s ambition.

[casasandovalblog]

Seniors Who Are Lonely Are Higher Risk of Poor Health

According to the Centers for Disease Control & Prevention (CDC), statistics show seniors who report feelings of loneliness are at higher risk for several diseases including dementia and are more likely to experience premature death. The National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine (NASEM) says “one-third of adults aged 45 and older feel lonely, and nearly one-fourth of adults aged 65 and older are considered to be socially isolated.” Social isolation is a lack of social connections and a result of a person living alone, having a spouse and/or other supportive friends or relatives die, or suffering from chronic illness. Other related problems include a lack of transportation, mobility impairment and untreated hearing loss, which all limit the senior’s opportunity to engage with others. 

AARP Research surveyed adults 45 and older regarding their feelings of loneliness. Of those respondents who rated their health as excellent, only 25 percent said they were lonely. Among participants who said their health was poor, 55 percent reported feeling lonely. The CDC also says studies find social isolation or loneliness is linked to a 29% increased risk of heart disease and a 32% increased risk of stroke as well as a 50% percent increased risk of dementia.

If you are looking for exceptional assisted living or independent living, Hayward’s Casa Sandoval may be your answer. We provide everything seniors need to safely and comfortably age in place. Along with luxury amenities, and care and hospitality services; our signature wellness programs and activities are designed to engage and encourage residents to live full productive lives. Our Life Enrichment team will present creative ways to stay active and comes with the benefit of not just camaraderie and fun, but some accountability (for you will be truly missed if you don’t show up).

For the most active seniors, our independent living suites offer a maintenance-free lifestyle with predictable budgeting and built-in companionship.  If you are a senior who needs help with the ADLs (the activities of daily living), we offer assisted living suites in a variety of configurations and floorplans.  Contact us or visit our website for more information about MorningStar’s Casa Sandoval.

MorningStar takes tremendous pride in the reputation we have earned for excellence and authenticity since our inception in 2003.  We believe the human capacity to grow, to learn and to contribute is ageless; and we act upon that truth daily, as we care for, inspire, and love the residents under our roof. Please contact us to learn more about the finest assisted living and independent living Hayward, CA offers.

Source: cdc.gov/aging/publications/features/lonely-older-adults.html

[lost-in-prose]

; - The Truth About Childhood Trauma

⚠️ Trigger Warning- the following are difficult topics ⚠️

Upon my entrance into college and my Literature and Mental Illness class, I have found that I have been mostly alone in handling my trauma and recovering from years of abuse. It has been a terrifying road for me and I do not wish it on my worst enemy, so I have decided to write down everything I know in one master post to help any of you who stumble upon the diagnosis of CPTSD on your own, just as I did years ago.

I will talk about the following topics and how they related to CPTSD as a whole:

What is CPTSD?

Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs)

Derealization Disorder (DPDR Disorder)

Maladaptive Daydreaming

Age Regression

The Science of Triggers

Sexuality vs Trauma Responses

Self Harm

Your Inner Child vs Who You Are Now

Dissociating

Depression & Anxiety

Flashbacks & Nightmares

Physical Manifestations of Mental Problems

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome

Insomnia

Dissociative Amnesia

Healing Generational Trauma

Mommy/Daddy Issues

The Past's Effect On Future Relationships

Emotional Storms

Abandonment Issues

Imposter Syndrome

Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD)

Gifted Kid Syndrome & The Inability To Be A 'Burden'

Surviving A Narcissist

Chronic Isolation/Loneliness

Intrusive Thoughts

Somatization Disorder

Executive Dysfunction

Sociopathic Tendencies

Sensory Processing Issues

Addictive Personality 

Anger Issues 

If there are other topics that you, dear reader, know about that correlate with CPTSD please let me know so that I can educate others. I am simply writing from my own experience, but I don't want anyone's symptoms to be left out just because they aren't the same as my own.

NOTE: this is not a diagnostic tool. I will have quizzes used by professionals that are utilized to gauge someone's risk of having these disorders, but a certain result does not mean you do or do not have a certain disorder. If you have any questions on whether you have a disorder, please contact a health care professional or someone you can trust to talk through it. Do not allow yourself to go through this alone.

I WILL NOT TOLERATE BULLYING OF ANY KIND ON THIS POST OR ANY OF THOSE RELATED. THIS IS A SAFE SPACE. WE CAN HAVE DISCUSSIONS- I WILL RESPECT YOUR OPINION AS LONG AS IT DOES NOT DISRESPECT SOMEONE ELSE'S EXISTENCE. IF YOU DO I WILL TAKE THE APPROPRIATE ACTIONS TO REMOVE YOU FROM MY PLATFORM.

Be brave, my loves :) if you need anyone to talk to my dms are always open <3

Here are resources to help you in the meantime:

General Trauma Recovery

Alternative Recovery Methods

[cruelfeline]

All right. I’ve cried enough about it; now let’s try to do something useful.

I’m going to try to articulate my interpretation of the scene between Hordak and Adora. I’m not certain that I will be able to do so adequately, but I will attempt it. 

It’s... it’s everything, this scene. Everything haunting and terrible and tender and wonderful about this story. And I want to express why it affects me so deeply. So. Let’s try.

Upon having Horde Prime’s consciousness purged from his body, Hordak experiences a flashback to the moment he found Adora. The triumphant music that has been playing suddenly stops, and we experience this utterly silent moment between two characters that have, over the course of the show, interacted directly only a handful of times.

Hordak looks so very young, so innocent. He wears an outfit that appears to be a sort of mix of clone attire and his future armor, and it makes him look small, non-combative. He has his dyed hair and black eyeshadow, but none of it is as dramatic as it becomes later on. His face carries none of the stern bitterness and rage that we’re so used to seeing in him.

He’s just... quiet. Contemplative, perhaps. Maybe even a little confused, but entirely devoid of any malice, of any hint of evil that one might anticipate, remembering his demeanor back in the first couple of seasons. 

He holds Adora gently, almost tenderly, the way one would expect someone, a regular, non-clone someone, to hold an infant. As he appears to adjust the blanket around her face, her hand rests close enough to his that, if she wanted, she could touch his skin.

This moment... I don’t know if I can properly express the emotions this moment instills in me. A sense of immense importance in a seemingly innocuous act. Something foreboding and melancholy, yet tentatively hopeful.

Here is a Horde clone, a cultist whose sole purpose is the glorification of Horde Prime, and here is a tiny infant girl. They are so very different, so entirely unlike one another, and yet they are the same. Both infinitely far from home. Both lost and alone in this strange place. Both beholden to others’ machinations, whether they recognize it or not. Both fated to suffer so terribly, for reasons entirely outside of their control. And neither knows it: what the future holds for them.

Hordak will suffer through chronic illness, and shame, and loneliness, and the terrifying disgrace of failure. He will visit grievous harm upon Etheria in his desperate bid for validation and acceptance. He will return to his god-Brother full of misguided hope, only to be mentally and emotionally destroyed.

Adora will be given to an abusive woman who will instill in her insecurities and traumas that will affect her for life. She will spend her days driving herself to meet everyone else’s needs while pointedly ignoring her own. She will experience the horror of being groomed to be a weapon.

They will both suffer immeasurably, and yet within that suffering, they will find friendship, and love, and strength, and eventual peace.

And this moment? This moment that Adora is too young to remember, and that Hordak once claimed to forget? This brief moment of a Horde clone’s inexplicable mercy towards an infant girl is what starts a chain of events that ends with the death of a monstrous tyrant and the liberation of an entire universe. 

Neither recognizes this moment. Neither knows its significance. 

They don’t know that Hordak, by indulging in mercy and saving this child, has likewise saved himself and the rest of the known universe. They don’t know how incredibly important this brief moment is to the both of them, to everyone. They won’t know it until everything is said and done, until the journey is over.

It’s such a poignant, haunting realization: that everything we see happen, everything they all go through, every triumph and frustration, is the result of this single decision Hordak made for reasons he likely doesn’t quite understand. The result of a small connection that neither Hordak nor Adora realized they shared.

But once they do realize it, once She-Ra purges Prime from Hordak’s body and mind and recognizes this connection, we witness a beautiful moment of understanding and forgiveness.

Her hand gently cupping Hordak’s cheek, She-Ra sees that, despite everything, despite all that Hordak has done, there was no malice in him. Not really. Not when all of the anger and frustration and fear are peeled away.

She sees him not as a tyrannical conqueror, but as the wounded, frightened, emotionally sick person he truly is. 

She-Ra sees that, in the end, Hordak is a victim of terrible circumstances, of another’s sordid plans, just as she herself was. She understands that what drives him is not the desire to rule, or to destroy, but rather something so much more tragic and painful and desperate. Something that necessitates healing, rather than punishment.

She sees all of this. She understands it. And so she chooses to forgive. 

And because She-Ra is Etheria, and Etheria is She-Ra, it is as if the planet, too, recognizes what Hordak is and what he has done. Etheria sees Hordak, Etheria understands Hordak. And Etheria, too, forgives him.

Despite everything that’s happened, despite the war and the destruction and the litany of pain and fear he has wrought, Hordak is forgiven.

And as She-Ra smiles at him, he quietly realizes that the tiny infant he rescued from a silent field all those years ago is the reason all of this has happened. The reason he is free. The reason he is forgiven. He remembers her. Hordak remembers a moment and a connection and a choice he once made, and he recognizes the loving act of kindness that has resulted from them. 

It’s so tender, all of it. So kind. So compassionate and gentle, that this man’s wrongs can be seen for the cries of pain that they were, and that he can be helped up off the ground instead of subjected to vengeful justice.

Because that is what this story is about: compassion and forgiveness. People and how their most unassuming connections can radically change their lives. Choices and personal agency rising above destiny. Recognizing the pain and trauma in others’ mistakes and reaching out to them in healing rather than retribution.

And all of it started and ended with two lost individuals who, without knowing, without meaning to, would forge a connection and save one another’s lives.

This brief scene is a loving celebration of everything this show stands for, every compassionate message it has conveyed, and every hopeful lesson it has taught. It makes me weep more than anything else this show has offered, and though I will never be able to truly express my feelings about it as well as I would like, I hope I’ve provided at least some idea of why it is so important to me.

[brotherslayer]

I was going through the manhwa and it hit me that unlike Athy and Jennette's dresses, we never see anyone dissecting the meaning behind Claude or Anastacius's costume, even though they have much underlying symbolism to offer with all their varying colours and motifs. And these are the two most rich characters in terms of backstory and human relationships. Ur detailed dissection on Jennette's costumes are so good that I'm scarily tempted to tempt u to do this one. Will u do this one analysis🥺???

I don't know anything about the medals or the flowers on Claude's clothings since I'm don’t know flower language... But I can give my thoughts on some of his clothings.

Claude wears three types of clothings throughout the manhwa: 1. royal military uniforms 2. togas 3. victorian children clothings of the upper/middle class (play suits + sailor suits).

What is striking is that all three types of clothings he wore can be associated with freedom and oppression equally (1. military 2. ancient romans 3. royal navy).

Let's start with the first outfit he wore as a child: The sailor suit.

In 1846, the four-year-old Albert Edward, Prince of Wales was given a scaled-down version of an enlisted man’s sailor suit. It was almost certainly a carefully chosen decision calculated to make the public associate the monarchy which had declined in popularity with the most popular institution in Britain -The Royal Navy.

What do we know about the royal navy? Besides it’s role in British colonialism and the suppression of many Asian and African peoples, it helped to defeat a series of opponents for the most part countries goverened by authoritarian or dictatorial rulers (Philip II, Louis XIV, Napoleon, Kaiser Wilhelm II), in other words: tyrants.

Sailor suits which are associated with childishness and innocence stand in juxtaposition to it’s militaristic origin . It’s a reminder how young Claude was still pure and innocent, yet without being fully aware of it he was thrown into a battle for succession at such a young age, and expected to survive or die trying.

We could also dvelve into color theory a little bit: Brown is mostly associated with humility, plainness and poverty. It could be a reminder of his commoner origin. Perhaps it tells us that his mother didn’t have much money back then and Claude had to get dressed in clothes that didn’t gave away easily how often they got mended or got dirty, because his mother could only afford a few sets of clothing. This is only a speculation: perhaps the money meant for Claude was mostly used for the treatment of his mother’s sickness. (I can’t see the Emperor paying the treatment of a chronically ill lover. Unless he actually loved her).

We could also assume that Claude intentionally picked out plain brown clothing that would allow him to blend well with the environment. The flashback in chapter 73 shows us little Claude hiding behind the bushes from the palace guards. Considering his state of increased alertness, he seemed to be used to sense danger approaching and find ways to hide quickly and efficiently.

Ah before I forget too much brown can also create feelings of sadness, isolation and loneliness...alright, you get what I mean, I stop here. 

Now to Anastacius. While Claude’s attire is more lowkey about it’s violent origin: Anastacius’ is more upfront. He’s already aware of the situation he is in. He knows his little brother is more talented than him and feels threatened enough to consider the words of Caracks who tried to lure him away. Anastacius wears something resembling a mix of military uniform and a victorian play suit in blue and red.

Blue was also considered the most prestigious colour, and was granted to “royal” regiments.

I think Anastacius and Claude’s outfits were meant to show that they were at a crossroad in life. When Ana was still friendly with Claude he started out wearing play outfits and then as his relationship with Anastacius deteriorated, gradually started to wear normal suits and uniforms until he was wearing his ceremonial military uniform at the day he killed Ana.

The Obelia brother’s wearing a military uniform signifies that they are at war with someone. They are ready to spill blood. You can see it in The Lovely Princess, where when Athy meets Claude for the first time, instead of a toga he is wearing a military uniform and continues to do so almost until his death. We know that Diana was the one who introduced him to Siodonna’s fashion. With the memories of her gone, so was the peaceful presence in his life and he became a misanthrope. The memory spell had taken full affect and he was incapable to love or care for Athy in any way. Athy became his biggest torment, his enemy. Similarly our! Claude is only wearing a military uniform at official occations like Athy’s debutante ball, where he had to face the nobles which he resented so much. And even now, in the latest chapters he bothered to change his clothes with magic from a toga into a uniform when he reunited with his elder brother.

Whenever Anastacius and Claude are wearing a military uniform they are meeting someone hated (LP verse Claude met Athy, birthday baquet! Claude met the nobles (Roger), and now in chapter 109 he met his brother who had tried to kill him), they either want to demonstrate strenght (the uniform at Athy’s birthday baquet was more show) or they are ready to attack (the uniform in the recent chapters was more practical to move in).

However they are also stress on the fact that they belong to the royal family and are ought to be respected.

Ana wore almost constantly military uniforms, because he felt the need to show that he was the heir. Not only by birthright, but also in appearance. Only when he went undercover he switched his wardrobe to suits (still, in purple in the color of royality) and puffy shirts. You can see it when Anastacius entered the palace with Jennette. When Ana is fighting against Claude he is either wearing a royal blue (past) or a combination of red and black (present).

“ Black and red. In western culture, these are the two most sinister colors, as red typically conveys the meaning of blood or anger, and black is that of darkness or death. Being a very visually striking combination, they can also convey a sense of power. Together, they additionally give the impression of burning coal or wood, i.e. "fire and destruction".”

(TV Tropes: Red and Black and Evil All Over)

In his previous life he bought fire and destruction upon Obelia...like in Athy’s nightmare remember? So it’s is kind of a bad omen as well.

Anastacius uniform in black and red forms a strong contrast to Claude’s uniform, which is dyed in colors of purple and pure white. “The color purple is often associated with royalty, nobility, luxury, power, and ambition. Purple also represents meanings of wealth, extravagance, creativity, wisdom, dignity, grandeur, devotion, peace, pride, mystery, independence, and magic.”

My point is that Ana’s appearance reflect his state of mind. Being all the time at war with his brother. The paranoia to get overthrown.  The fear not to be enought. He insisted on wearing the ceremonial royal uniform, the crown and the coat, in royal colors, because he felt inferior towards Claude and it made him feel safer. If he thought his own skills as heir were lacking he sought to compensate with the way he presented himself in public (his inferiority complex might have contributed to his lavish livestyle and tendency to waste money). 

The only exception where Ana is not wearing a uniform is a scene during the time of Ana and Claude’s falling out. But he still emphasizes that he belongs to the Imperial family in another way: The brooch on his vest, has the same blue shade as the color of his eyes, which are a trademark sign that only the Imperial family possesses. In chapter 109, Claude and Athy chose to wear a similary colored brooch to show that they are the “true” heirs.

[swluminekin]

Honestly, I know few will see this - or care to see this - but I need to put in my two cents.

Sean’s “15 Months” is a beautifully put together short film. It talks about a lot and it hits home for a lot of people. It also shows his vulnerability from the past, well, 15 months; what his life has been like.

The film hits home about depression, loneliness, chronic illness, and anxiety. The past 15 months have brought forward a lot of this for people. If this community has shown me anything, everyone has some sort health problem. Doesn’t matter if it’s mental or physical, most of us have something. Due to the pandemic, we have all been affected in some way. Many of us didn’t know if we would have jobs the next day. We didn’t know if or when we would get it. We didn’t know if we would ever be able to see or touch loved ones again. We just... didn’t know. Because many of us like talking to people or being around people, we started to get lonely... then anxious... as time went on people were getting depressed. For a long while people were checking in on each other just to make sure everyone was okay. It seemed to go on forever. For people with chronic illnesses, having depression or anxiety didn’t help. Going to the doctor was either impossible or extremely difficult to accomplish. Not to mention for many who needed to go to the hospital for procedures, unless it was absolutely necessary (and even then that didn’t always mean anything) you had to continuously delay it because of the high number of CoV cases. Everything just seemed to get worse and worse. (The political unrest didn’t help either.) But now we’re slowly starting to see that light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so close and hopefully soon we can just move forward and think of this as just a dark chapter. A dark chapter that helped us all see and think from different perspectives than we did before.

At the same time, Sean is showing us what he personally has dealt with - even if it’s not the full story. He’s mentioned before that because his asthma has come back - as well as having digestive issues - that he’s had to take medication upon medication every day. He’s mentioned about waking up in the middle of the night short of breath, or waking up in the morning with his chest hurting and not able to breathe near at all. Seeing it the way he put it in his film brought it so much more into light for me that it actually felt real (not that it didn’t feel real before). Watching him struggle to laugh or smile, having to have inhalers close by just in case. Seeing the exhaustion from just existing some days was incredibly prevalent. He showed us the pressure of social media and looking at his comments sections, seeing how people want the old him - demand it of him. But for an amount of the community (or at least me), what seems to hit hard is seeing him watching the old videos of himself. He’s told us time and again that he’s finally happy where he is, but everyone demands the old him back and just watching him watch the old videos just ached. He shouldn’t want to go back to that time in his life. That was a Sean who didn’t know who he was, what he wanted, and was incredibly close to burning out. Sean has told us this himself - especially when the public speaker reviewed his videos. The entire film showed us how - as he mentioned before - it was everyday the same thing, lather-rinse-repeat. There was no difference, no change. It was kind of anxiety inducing because you could tell he didn’t like being stagnant. But at the end, he was showing us that he’s trying to move forward, he’s trying to do what’s good for him. He sees a light and he’s taking steps towards it to help himself.

What this film means for the future, I don’t know. No one of the community knows but Sean. Wherever it takes him, we should be here for him as a community. Should he do more ego content or not. If he starts making short documentaries or not. Whether he goes back to playing games. Or if he needs to take long breaks for mental or physical health. Just like we (should) support each other, we also need to remember to support Sean. We need to remember that if there was no Sean, there would be no JSE community. We need to let him be able to take care of himself and we need to be there for him like he is here for us. And we also need to remember that it’s also not good to stay in the same place for a long time. If we do, we’ll never see the light of change.

[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Chapter I

Summary: Your simple life is disrupted, when the Bane raises the taxes of Mintwillow, yet again. Forcing your father to do something desperate to save you both.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 5,667

Rating: G - Fantasy!AU, Bane!Henry, Language, Loneliness

Inspiration: This is my oddball take on the Beauty and the Beast.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for helping me out with this! Tell me what you think!

You woke early the next morning, figuring your patient hadn't gotten any worse or died, since you weren't woken up in the dead of night to rush out to her hut. The birds were singing outside your window, the rising sun pushing back the darkness of the night and the fog from the village, filling every corner of it with beautiful light. You hummed happily as you got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, you could hear the steady and rhythmic clang of your father's hammer pounding and working some piece of metal into impossible shapes.

“Morning, dove!” He called out.

His forge was an open lean-to attached to one side of the house, a doorway giving him access to both. He always left the door open, it had become a habit between him and your mother, so they could talk to each other over the clang of his work and the quiet of hers, keeping them connected throughout their day, since they were almost always in close proximity. It also worked out, when you were younger and your mother had to run off and tend to someone. He would either sit you on the hearth rug with some of your toys, going back to his work and keeping an eye on you through the door, or he would set you down on a workbench in his area, so you could watch, and be safely out of his way. You always loved when he did that, you loved watching him shape things, making whatever his customers ordered.

“Morning, Papa!” You called back with a smile.

In more than one way, you had put on your mother's shoes, both of you would talk through the open forge door as you went about your day, making herbal packets and other things you needed, while he worked at his anvil.

“What's on the fire today?” You asked, getting the stove going and started breakfast.

“One of the boys in the village is proposing to his gal, so he's asked me to make her a ring.” Your father replied, bending over his work.

Apart from being a blacksmith, your father also dabbled in metalsmithing, since the village metalsmith had moved away almost a year ago, to hard hit to live in Mintwillow any longer.

“Jeremiah or Marcus?” You asked, frowning at the cooking food as it sizzled in the pan, the village was too small and gossip moved faster than the wind.

“Travis and Daisy.” Your father replied, changing tools.

“What?” You snapped, surprised. “I thought they broke up a month ago?”

“Love!” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Hormones!” You huffed back, chuckling.

“That too!”

“Come, eat!” You said, plating up breakfast and setting it down on the breakfast table, then taking a seat yourself.

“Smells amazing, as always.” He smiled at you, taking a seat beside you and took up his fork and knife.

“Thanks.” You smiled back at him, digging into your own plate.

A little while later, you were sitting at your table, making a parcel of herbs for one of your regular patients with a chronic illness, when you heard the clang of your father's hammer go quiet. You paused for a moment, worried that he'd pushed himself too hard and had one of his dizzy spells again. But, a second later, you heard his voice out the front window, he was in the front yard of the house, speaking to someone else. Getting up, you looked out the window and saw your father talking to a tall male, both looked stiff and angry, the strange man's face was nearly purple, he was so angry. Concerned, you went out and stood on the porch, crossing your arms over your chest and listened to them argue.

“You can't do this!” You father barked, hand clenched around the heavy hammer he was still holding. “Your master has already raised the taxes on my goods, two months ago! I'm barely breaking even with that. If he raises it again, I won't make anything!”

“Mr. Cavill can do whatever he wants with the goods his company supplies you. I was just sent here by his butler to tell you the information.” The man gruffed back, scowling at your father. “So, you can either give him everything in your possession to pay his taxes, or you can find someone else to supply you your trade goods.” He started coldly, then turned on his heels and marched away.

Your father's shoulders tensed up before thrusting his hammer into the dirt and storming away, only to come back a moment later to retrieve his hammer, then returned to his forge. You frowned after the now gone man, before walking around the house to your father's forge, finding him sitting down on a small stool beside his raging forge, hammer between his feet and his face in his hands.

It was a rare sight, to see him so dejected and beaten down.

“So, the Bane raised the taxes again?” You asked, softly.

“Nearly double since the last time.” He replied, not looking up or taking his hands from his face. “I don't know how I'll make this work.” He mumbled to himself. “I can't raise my prices, it's almost more than the villagers can afford now, with him taxing them as well.” He sighed, scrubbing his calloused hands over his tired and sunken face. “We'll either end up destitute or end up like Sheamus, the metalsmith, and move away.”

“You promised mum you'd never move away from her grave.” You said quietly, biting your lip, and feeling a hot knot in your stomach.

“I know I did, girl. I know I did.” He sighed again, sitting up and letting you see his pained expression, the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “I don't know what else to do.” He said softly and stood. “I'm a bit tired, Dove. I think I'll take myself a long nap.” He slowly moved into the house.

“Do you want me to make you a cup of your tea first?” You asked, following after him, concerned and worried.

“Maybe later.” He sighed, going into his room and quietly closing the room.

You stood there, at a loss from the situation, you were even more helpless in the situation. You couldn't make your patients pay anymore than your father could his customers. Sighing, you went back to your herbs, needing something to distract your mind from the grim situation. Glancing out the window, and even though you couldn't see it from this side of the house, you cursed the Bane and his evil presence in your life, in the lives of Mintwillow.

A little while later, your father came out of his room, carrying his jacket in one hand and a sealed letter in the other. You turned in your chair to face him, frowning and shaking your head at him. It was quite rare that your father went out anywhere, anything that needed to be done elsewhere, usually fell to you, while any of your father's business came to him.

“Where are you going?” You asked him as he made for the door.

“Out.” He replied, in a rather short tone. “I need to take this letter out.”

“Surely, I can do that.” You told him, shaking your head and getting out of your chair, hand held out for the letter.

“No, I'll take it out.” He shook his head back at you. “Hopefully, the walk will clear up some of my melancholy.” He told you, then went out the door.

You watched him go, troubled and worried he would do something dangerous to himself, with the state he was in.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Damien?” His master snapped from behind his massive desk, cluttered with papers of all kinds.

“You have a letter, sir.” Damien replied, unbothered by his master's perpetual sour mood.

“Put it with the other, Damien.” He huffed, rolling his eyes at the report in his hand.

“It's been labeled urgent, Sir.” Damien answered, stepping up to his desk and holding it out to him.

Rolling his eyes again, his master took the letter from his hand and opened it, skimming through it once, before actually reading it; his brows slowly lifting as he did. “This man can't possibly be serious!” He barked, reading the letter again to be sure he wasn't misreading it. “Fucking Christ, he is!” He huffed, holding the letter out to Damien.

“Who does he think I am?”

Damien read through the letter. “Perhaps, it's all he has, Sir.” He replied, finishing the letter.

“Perhaps!” He roared, huffing. “But, that isn't the type of collateral or possession I can do anything with! I'm not in the business of trafficking! Tell him no! Either useful possessions or he can go elsewhere.”

The butler frowned at the letter, his brain brewing. “Of course, Sir.” He bowed and showed himself out of his master's office, returning to the man standing in the enormous foyer. “Call back here in a week's time.” He told him, his shoulders square as he surveyed the downtrodden man.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” The man rambling, bowing over and over again. “Thank you.”

Damien opened the door for him, the man still thanking him as he went out the door. The butler knew his master was going to be furious that he'd taken it upon himself to reverse his choice to reject the man's offer, but hoped that, perhaps, it would brighten his master's life and the dark and oppressive castle. If it didn't, both he and the man's offer would likely be tossed out the door, if not off the nearby cliffs.

Your father came back two hours later, he looked both relieved and increasingly more troubled. He wouldn't talk to you about where he had gone or what the letter was about.

“What's done has been done. It can't be undone now, no matter how much I wish it wasn't to be.” Was all he would say to you.

Then, returned to his room.

“Dove.” Your father called up to your room.

You groaned and rolled towards the window, it was barely light out, and it was odd that your father was waking you up. Figuring you had a sudden patient, you got out of bed and quickly dressed, rushing down the stairs.

“What is it?” You asked, eyes looking around for your possible patient.

But, your father looked you over. “Why don't you go change.” he said, biting his lip. “Put your best dress on and fix your hair.”

“Why?” You frowned at him, not understanding.

“Please, Dove.” He begged you, softly.

A deep suspicion filled you, but you slowly turned and went back upstairs, doing as your father bid. He smiled at you as you came back down, but there was a poorly guarded sadness in his brown eyes. You tried asking him more questions as you followed him outside, but he was silent, his lips clamped into a thin line that went with the growing sadness in his eyes; it worried you to no end. You both trudged through the village, your father giving fellow villagers a short nod as they greeted each other as you passed them by. After a ten minute walk, your father took a sharp turn, heading out of the village and up the nearby road, the steep drop off of the cliffs to one side and a thin lining of willow trees that divided the town from the road and cliffs on the other side.

You both kept walking, you trailing slightly behind your father, your heart pounding and stomach twisting in hot and sharp knots of nausea, until you couldn't take it anymore, and you grabbed the back of his elbow, pulling him to a stop; which took an effort on your part, even though your father was weakened from the illness, he still had the thick and muscular body of a lifelong blacksmith.

“Papa, tell me what's going on?” You begged him, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Where are we going? And, why?” You demanded, a hard lump forming in your throat as you saw just how sad and broken he really was.

“Please.”

“I promised your mother,” He paused, the emotion of mentioning your mother and the situation sticking in his throat. “I promised your mother, that I would take care of you. No matter what I had to do to make it so.” He told you, lifting his hand to your cheek, his fingers cold from the blustery winds whipping off the choppy ocean.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You frowned at him, gripping the sleeves of his coat.

“You'll find out soon enough.” He replied, pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No need worrying about it, just yet.” He added, turning away from you and continued on.

“But, I'm worrying about it now.” You replied to his back, the sound of your voice getting lost in the roar of the waves.

Sighing, you started following your father again, even more worried and concerned over what was going on. Did he arrange a marriage for you and was too worried about telling you about it, so he was just taking you to the parish church to spring it on you. Or was he planning something else entirely. You weren't sure which one worried you more, but your anxiety boosted, when your father took another turn and started up a steep road through a massive thicket of trees. You had lived in the area all of your life, so you knew what lived in this direction, and you weren't at all happy with it.

“The Bane!”

You barked at your father's back. “Why are we going to see the Bane!? What does that selfish and greedy bastard have to do with your promise to Mum?!” You demanded, stopping in the middle of the road, and refusing to go any further until he answered your questions.

His shoulders slumping, your father rubbed his face with both hands and turned around to face you. “He's agreed to see you.”

“For what?!” You growled, hands clenching.

“We'll find out when we get there.” He replied, chewing his bottom lip to bits. “So, come along, we don't want to be late.”

“I don't care if we're late!” You hissed at him. “He does nothing but hole himself up in that giant castle with all his riches, while we starve down in the village! He can wait on us for a change.” You argued, but still angrily followed. “I can't believe you're entertaining any of this! Of all the choices you could have made to keep your promise. You could have just married me off to someone in the village.”

“All the boys in the village are either betrothed or already married.” Your father sighed, shaking his head, and feeling his heart fall deeper into his boots.

He had considered that.

You were fuming by the time you both reached the Bane's door. Your father rang the doorbell, waiting for the butler to answer, and after a couple of minutes, the door opened with a loud creak. Damien lifted a brow at your father in silent acknowledgment, then looked over at you, his eyes scanning you, head to toe. It wasn't until he settled on your face that some kind of emotion showed from him, and he looked rather pleased at the sight of you, which only made you even more anxious and annoyed at the whole situation.

“This is my daughter.” Your father said, giving Damien your name and tried smiling at you proudly, but the smile itself didn't happen as well as the pride he did have in you.

“She's exceptionally beautiful.” Damien commented back. “I am sure my Master would love to have her company.” He added, with a nod of his head, like he was sure of it.

“Oh, I don't think so.” You shook your head and started to walk away.

“Come now, Dove.” Your father said, stopping you and bringing you back to the door. “He didn't mean it that way.” He told you, giving the butler a dark look.

“Of course not.” Damien replied, with a polite bow of his head. “Pardon, my unintended meaning, Ms.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Pardon given.” You said, softly, pressing your sweaty and shaking hands to your sides.

Nodding his head at you again, Damien stepped aside and motioned you inside. “I'll show you up to your room, I've made it ready for you.”

“Wait, what about my clothes?” You asked, looking at your father, confused. “This is all I have with me.”

“Worry not, Ms.” Damien told you, easily. “Clothing will be provided for you.” He assured some of your anxiety away.

“You'll be fine, Dove.” Your father smiled, giving you a strong hug. “Come and visit, when you can.” He told you, cupping your face in his hands. “And do mind your manners, for your mother and I.” He added, giving you a stern look.

“I'll try, but no promises.” You replied, rolling your eyes, hugely unhappy with him leaving you here with the Bane.

Sighing, you stepped inside the castle, shivering as the door closed with a slam and the cold air of the castle wrapped around you. You looked around the dim foyer, only a few lights were burning, just enough to see where you were going without bumping into any of the covered, but expensive, furnishings. Damien led you up the huge spiral staircase, going up several floors until he led you down the hall and to a room that was nearly the size of your father's house in the village. There was a fire already burning in the room, the heavy curtains were tied by from the three windows and the double French doors, that open out onto a private balcony. The gigantic four poster bed had its curtains pulled back and tied to its posts as well; the blankets were pulled down and the pillows fluffed. There were three other doorways as well.

It was like nothing you had ever seen before.

“If you give me your size,” Damien said, dropping a few more logs into your fireplace. “I will have a wardrobe put together for you.” He told you, offering you a friendly smile.

“Of course.” You replied, peeking out the windows. “Where's the Bane?” You asked, turning to him.

“Mr. Cavill,” He answered, with a soft sigh, he had always hated that people referred to his master as 'The Bane'.

If only they knew him, as I do. He thought for a moment.

“Is in his private chambers.” He explained to you. “I'm sure you'll be meeting him some time soon.” He added. “For now, I'll go down and fetch you some lunch.”

You gave Damien your size before he left you alone in the room. Biting your lip, you went to the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony, you were on the side of the house that faced away from the village, only seeing the two or three huts at the far end, everything else was trees, cliffs and ocean, which was so much louder, now that you were so close to the cliff's edge. It had been less than an hour, and you were already homesick, unable to stop the tears that dripped down your cheeks, but quickly wiped them away as Damien knocked on your door and came in, carrying a delicious smelling tray of food for your lunch, setting it on a table by one of the windows, then poured you a steaming cup of tea.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, taking up the tea. “So, why doesn't the B--” You cleared your throat. “Mr. Cavill, come out of this place?” You asked him, sitting down. “No one's seen him in years. Some don't even believe he's still alive.”

“Oh, he is very much still alive.” Damien laughed, shaking his head with amusement. “And more than well. But, Mr. Cavill prefers a calm and quiet life, here in the castle. The world out there holds nothing for him.” He explained to you.

“Other than taxing people out of food, homes and livelihoods.” You snorted, with a roll of your eyes. “and sometimes, their lives themselves.” You added, your eyes darkening as you recalled all the bodies of the Villagers being washed away by the waves crashing against the cliff sides.

“When the mood befouls him, he does do some rather rash and cruel things.” Damien replied, his face darkening. “But, he's really not as awful as the villagers make him out to be.” He defended his master.

“If you say so.” You retorted, taking another sip of your tea.

“I do.” He answered, lifting a brow at you. “I've known him since he was born. So, between the two of us, I believe I am the better judge of his character.” He told you, with a sharp edge in his voice.

A bell sounded somewhere in the vastness of the castle, cutting off your and Damien's conversation.

“If you need anything, just pull the rope. I'll bring you your dinner when it is ready.” He said, pointing to the rope, then rushed out of the room and to his master's room, elsewhere.

You listened to the echo of his shoes fade away the further he got from your room, and sighed, before finishing your lunch. Once your food was gone, you stood and opened one of the three other doors, finding it was a large bathroom, then moved to the next and found it was a huge, and empty, walk-in closet. The third door, to your surprise, led into a massive library, the shelves lined with dusty and cobwebbed books, the reading sofas had white sheets draped over them. It had a huge bay window, the two side panels of the filthy window were stained glass, the Cavill family emblem and coat of arms were in the center of them, throwing reds, blues and greens onto the big rug.

Stepping into the room, you touched the spines of the books lining the tall and deep shelves, leaving fingerprints in the dust as you did; reading their names. The air in the library was musty from being closed up for so long, but still held one of your favorite scents, the smell of books. You loved how books smelled. No one book smelled the same, like their one of a kind stories between their sheltering covers gave them a unique scent all of their own. The scent of their adventures, heartbreaks, triumphs and laughs, like how people had their own special scent. A couple of the books were in languages you didn't understand, some were so thick and heavy, you had to hold them with both hands.

But, many of them you hadn't read, or even heard of.

You pulled another book off the shelf, whose title interested you, flipping open the stiff cover, the spine crackling as you did. Flipping to the first page, you started reading from it, slowly pacing the room as you did and getting lost inside of it, forgetting for several hours, that you were no longer in your own home, until your ears realized how quiet it was, there was no clang from your father's hammer meeting the anvil. It all came rushing back to you, as you looked up, blinking your dust irritated eyes as you glanced around the room, and a massive lump formed in your throat and chest. You took a shuddering breath, tears brimming in your eyes as you tried to hold back your steep loneliness and the growing weight of being homesick.

“It hasn't been a day, and I already feel like I'm dying.” You choked out loud to yourself. “How can he stand living here, with only a butler.”

“Chess.” Damien's voice retorted, startling you so badly, the book fell out of your hands with a thud. “My apologies.” He said, clearing his throat. “I've brought you your dinner.” He told you, motioning back into your room.

“Thank you.” You said, your voice no more than a squeak around the lump still there. “But,” You cleared your throat. “I'm not hungry, just now.” You told him, bending down to pick up the book.

“Of course.” He nodded, sympathetically. “It'll be there, when you do. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, blinking at you.

“No, thank you.” You shook your head, biting hard into your cheek to keep your emotions at bay.

Nodding again, Damien bowed to you and disappeared again. Sighing, you tried picking back up at your place in the book, but couldn't get past the first sentence, so you pulled a ribbon from your hair and used it to mark your place in the book and carried it back into your room. Setting it on one of the bed's nightstands, you rounded the bed to the tray of food on your table, your lunch tray cleared away. It smelled even more fabulous than your lunch had, but you just refilled your teacup and went into the bathroom, setting it on the sink counter and turned towards the large, claw-foot soaking tub. You plugged the drain and spun open the hot tap, humming as it came out, instantly steaming, not having to warm up buckets of water by the hearth was amazing.

“That's a nice perk.” You said, slipping out of your clothing.

Taking up your teacup, you stepped into the full and hot tub of water, with a deep and satisfied moan. You stayed in the tub, washing yourself with the expensive soap and washcloth, sipping your tea, until the water was almost ice cold, then finally got out again. Drying off, you found a silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on, before padding back into your room and sitting down at the table, nibbling at your dinner. With a little bit of something on your stomach, you turned out the lights, tossed several more logs on the fire, so it would burn through the night, and crawled into bed.

Picking up your book, you read it by the flickering light of the fire, until your eyes grew heavy and you fell asleep.

You woke several hours later, in a sweaty panic, your heart thundering in your chest, like the waves battering the cliff side outside your window. It took you several long minutes to calm down and remember where you were and why. Resting back on your pillows and headboard, you closed your eyes and focused on the roar of the waves, trying to relax yourself enough to fall back to sleep, but had no luck. So, getting out of bed, you slipped on your shift and robe, before tiptoeing up to the door, pressing your ear to the cool wood to listen for any movement in the hallway. Hearing nothing, you cracked open your door and stepped out into the hall, it was dark, for obvious reasons, but you didn't let it deter you as you moved down to the stairs. The whole castle, other than your room, seemed to be as cold as a grave, it felt like one as well.

You stopped on one of the floors, and snooped around it, before turning back towards the stairs, not noticing a door behind you open and a body stepping out into the hall. A shadow followed quietly behind you, as you moved down the stairs again, to the main floor, peaking around the foyer and the open door of a study, only then, sensing the presence behind you.

“Who are you?” The shadow asked in a deep voice.

A shiver racing down your back, knowing it wasn't the soft voice of Damien, that had asked. You froze in place, realizing that the Bane was behind you, who else could it be? Surely, a would-be thief wouldn't ask who you were, giving away their own presence in the house, where you could likely scream, waking the house and get him caught in his act.

“I asked you a question.” His deep voice growled, making you gulp.

Your shoulders stiffened as you managed to mumble out your name, too afraid to turn around to face him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding no less aggravated at your presence.

You blinked several times, brow creasing with your confusion, you were about to answer him, when a rush of steps came into the room and Damien appeared behind his master, holding a light in his hand.

“Sir.” He blurted out, out of breath and panting.

“Who is this girl, Damien?” Cavill asked, turning towards his startled butler. “Why is she here?” He demanded, jaw clenched.

“She's uh..” Damien licked his lips and glanced at you as you turned around. “She's that girl, sir.” He gulped, thickly.

“This..” Cavill started to say, pointing a finger at you as he turned back to look at you, both of your eyes locking together.

Your mouth almost dropped open seeing his face.

No one had actually seen the Bane in years, especially in the village, they weren't good enough for the rich likes of his family and their station in the world. You had pictured a,—well you never really pictured him as anything. But, so many people described him as an evil and twisted bastard, who was probably uglier than the devil himself. However, the Bane was anything, but ugly. He was incredibly, and surprisingly, handsome. He couldn't be more than thirty-five, from light that Damien held, that danced in his dark curls and lit up his cerulean blue eyes, throwing lines on his face, that made the frown he was wearing, look more like a smile; which also made him look even more handsome and dashing, in his night clothes.

Damien looked between the two of you with a lifted brow, watching the both of you stare at each other, taking in and sizing the other up, before Cavill cleared his throat.

“This is the girl?” Cavill finally said, his eyes not leaving yours. “From the letter?” He frowned, finally looking away from you, and back to Damien.

“It is, sir.” He nodded at his master, a teeny ping of hope appearing in his stomach.

“Well.” Cavill cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, seemingly flustered.

Perhaps, he isn't as horrid as everyone thinks. You thought, staring and blinking at him.

But, you had thought too soon, it seems.

“Then, why the hell is she wandering around the castle in the middle of the night!” He growled, angrily at Damien.

“I couldn't sleep.” You squeaked, startled.

His head snapped to you, like he was going to yell at you too, but his lip only twitched before he looked back at Damien. “I don't want her wandering around at night.” He hissed at the butler.

“Deal with her and send her back to the room, you surely, have made up for her.” He barked, rubbing at his temples.

“Of course, sir.” Damien nodded, looking highly concerned for his master. “I'll do that right away, sir. Can I get you anything, while I'm at it?” He asked, biting his lip.

“No.” Cavill huffed, then looked at you, his eyes had darkened to a stormy blue, but his tense shoulders relaxed the teeniest bit. “Good night.” He half whispered, half growled at you, before storming off, back to his own bedroom.

“Come, let's get you some warm milk.” Damien said, smiling at you, gently. “It might help.” He said, turning and heading towards the kitchen.

“I'm sorry, if I've gotten you into any trouble.” You told him, watching as he warmed the milk. “I didn't mean too, or to disturb anyone either. I just couldn't sleep.”

“Oh, it's all right.” He waved it off and shook his head. “You just surprised him, is all. I hadn't found the opportunity to tell him you were here. I meant to tell him during breakfast, tomorrow. But..” He chuckled, shaking his head, very amused by the whole situation.

“I surprised him?” You chuckled back, grinning at the thought you could startling someone the size of the Bane, he was easily over six foot, his body thick with well defined muscles, that you could see, even under his night clothes.

“Seems a bit far fetched.”

“It's not hard.” Damien told you, pouring the warmed milk into a glass for you. “Henry is honestly a very tender soul, under all that muscle and growling. But, life hasn't been easy for him, after losing everyone in his family to that illness several years back. Being thrust suddenly into the man of the house and the head of the family business, and so many other things, has taken its toll on him.” He explained as he escorted you back up to your room.

“Give him a chance.” He said, stopping at your door. “You two will warm up to each other in no time, and you'll see who he really is, deep down.”

“Well, you are the best judge of that, aren't you?” You replied, quoting him from earlier.

Damien laughed, looking down at his socked feet. “That I am. Good night, Ms.” He bid you with a bow of his head.

“Good night, Damien.”